I don't know why I grabbed this paper. Maybe it was habit. I just feel like I should write something, but I have no idea what it should be. I guess since I have so much on my mind, I thought I would be able to write something. Maybe something important. However right now it is just scribbles on a page. I guess my writing reflects me as a person. Messy, unorganized, and pointless. People are made up of their thoughts. Often I find myself writing mine down. I guess this means, in a way, I am my writing. What that says about me, I don't know.

I try not to look too deep within myself. Doing that is scary and causes too many problems. I still don't know why I picked up this pen and paper. Maybe I shouldn't look too closely at it. What I might find scares me. So I picked up the pen and the words started flowing. Maybe if I allow the thoughts to come out, I won't have to ponder them much. I'll allow these words to flow until I run out of room. Physically on the paper or emotionally, I don't know. Whatever happens first. For right now there is nothing else, just this paper and pen and me. I will write until I see where this leads. It may be repetitive, and pointless. They are my thoughts however, and that is what makes me, me.

Sometimes I can't articulate my thoughts, and sometimes I blurt out things I don't really mean or didn't think through. My brain is messy. When I pick up a pen and put it to a piece of paper, it just flows. It is not usually grammatically correct. Nor is the spelling fantastic, but the pen just dances across the paper. It is a marionette and my fingers are the strings.

Writing is fluent in ways that I will never be able to match with spoken word. Just grabbing a pen and writing without a plan. Just letting my fingers twitch and seeing what appears on the paper. Writing is the ultimate freedom for me. It frees my brain from the confines of my mouth. I will probably never be great with spoken word. I will never be an impressive speaker. I will never be someone who will change peoples lives with the words I speak. I'm okay with that, because the words I write down are important to me.

Someday I want to write something important. Something that has meaning. I want to write something that's going to touch a person's soul. Something that seems to unlock some kind of hidden, mysterious secret buried inside a person. Maybe if I do that, my life will have some kind of meaning, I'll probably never write anything like that. That's okay though. I'm content in my mediocrity. In fact, I don't want people to know my name. I do want to change peoples lives for the better. I don't know. I'm selfish. I probably just want to imprint myself into people's memories. I don't want to be known, but I also don't want to be forgotten.